Deadly Shores

by Taylor Anderson

  “My brother Cap-i-taan Reddy is right, of course,” Keje growled, blinking at Adar, “and we must bear that always in our thoughts.” He’d remained standing, and now paced to the great map. “If I may?” he asked, and Matt nodded. “According to Grik charts, and now direct observation”—Keje blinked at Tikker—“we know the enemy maintains four separate, um, enclaves, upon our ancestral homeland, all in the North and West. Apparently Lieuten-aant Miyaata was correct when he surmised that the vast majority of Madagaascar has been maintained as a kind of preserve. For what purpose, remains unclear.”

  “Most welcome news indeed,” Courtney Bradford enthused. “Perhaps even some remnant of the indigenous population still remains. Certainly there must be a few examples, at least, of native flora and fauna!”

  “That is an exciting prospect,” Choon agreed.

  “Um . . . of course,” Keje allowed. “But the most pertinent point at present is that the enclaves are relatively isolated, not only from the mainland of Africaa, across the strait to the west, but even from one another. Cap-i-taan Jis-Tikkar?”

  Tikker stood and joined Keje at the map. “We were careful,” he said, “and though I can’t guarantee it, I don’t think we were any of us spotted. Ahd-mi-raal Keje is correct, however. Of the four Grik population centers we observed, only the two in the far north are within reach of each other. The other two are farther down the coast.”

  “You used the term ‘enclave,’” Von Melhausen observed, his ancient eyes staring at the map, his fingers twisting his white mustache. “What do you mean by that?”

  Tikker shrugged and looked at Keje. “Precisely that, if my understanding of the term is correct. Each city is surrounded on its inland side by a great, tall . . . well, wall of some kind, made of mighty trees, in the same way we have protected Baalkpan from the predators of the jungles of Borno. Only these are much larger, and many miles long, in fact.”

  “Like the big wall erected to protect the natives from King Kong,” Herring muttered thoughtfully. “Except this one’s not made of stone. . . .” Tikker didn’t understand the reference, but nodded. “One must assume it is designed to keep Grik within, or something else out,” he agreed. “That would add further credence to Lieutenant Miyata’s theory that the bulk of our homeland remains a preserve of some sort.” He blinked consternation. “A great many large monsters were reported grazing on the central plain, but nothing of the interior of the jungle could be seen. There is no telling what abides there.”

  “Whatever it is, we can handle it,” Chack assured, and Matt stared at him. Chack caught his gaze and shrugged. “We can,” he added forcefully.

  “Tell us more about these ‘walls,’” Matt instructed.

  “They’re big,” Tikker repeated, “heavily constructed of what look like Galla trees, and as I said, they go for miles.”

  “Do they look like Chack’s command will have any difficulty scaling them?”

  “I shouldn’t think so, sir.”

  “Which means Grik can climb them too, so they’re most likely designed to keep things out, not in. Maybe big things,” Sandra mused, speaking for the first time, while absently stroking Petey’s small head. The ridiculous creature had been sated by a constant stream of morsels from Sandra’s plate during the meal and had behaved himself amazingly well under the circumstances. Now he lay curled, in his usual spot around the back of Sandra’s neck, fast asleep.

  “I guess so,” Tikker concurred. He looked at Chack. “I hope you really can handle whatever that stockade is meant to keep out!”

  “The First Raider Brigade will avoid whatever it is, or kill it,” Chack said simply.

  Matt hoped he was right. “What other defenses did you see?” Matt questioned.

  “Not much,” Tikker admitted. “No trenches or barricades, if that’s what you mean. And we stayed high over the cities, as ordered, so it was hard to tell. There seem to be more guns around the main harbor than Miyata remembered, and there were quite a few Grik milling around in the city. No telling how many were warriors. There do seem to be a number of new parade grounds, though. Many more than Toryu remembered.”

  “They may be training grounds for the ‘new’ Grik that General Alden has reported in India,” Jindal suggested. “If so, they could provide a nasty surprise indeed.”

  Herring frowned. “Yes,” he said. “And why not? They must come from somewhere, and it strikes me personally that it is more likely they’d come from here than other parts of the Grik Empire.”

  Matt looked at him questioningly, and Herring chuckled darkly. “We know so little, but whatever training regimen they have established simply cannot be available to all Grik yet, and our man Niwa is certain Halik came from here.” He looked speculatively at Tikker. “You saw no massed troop movements?”

  “No, and I overflew Grik City myself.”

  “Hmm. I don’t suppose he could do it again?” The question was directed at Matt.

  “No. Once was potentially warning enough. I’d rather face ten thousand of ’em with surprise on my side than a hundred who know we’re coming.” He looked back at Tikker. “You’ll keep scouting the proposed landing site for Chack’s Brigade, but stay away from Grik City. Now, what about the ships you saw in the harbor. What were they?”

  Tikker blinked displeasure. “I believe six of their ironclad baattle waagons were present there, at least. There may have been more.”

  “I doubt it,” Courtney proclaimed. “Like most evil things, they do tend to come in threes. Or multiples of three!”

  Matt nodded. “Seems pretty universal with them. What else?”

  “A couple hundreds of those Indiaman-type ships, so there probably are some troops. And at least a dozen of their ironclad cruiser things.”

  “Hmm. Those bother me as much as the BBs,” Matt allowed. “Their guns are nearly as big, and they’re more maneuverable. We’ve never had to face them ship to ship before either. Not at close range. We’ll have to take care of those.”

  “So the plan remains essentially unchanged?” Adar pressed.

  “We’ll have to tweak it a bit, and I’m less sure about the role we envisioned for Chack’s Brigade. It seems riskier now. But yeah, we’ll still land Second Corps as originally planned, and Walker will lead our surface elements into the bay to neutralize the enemy fleet and provide artillery support for the ground forces.”

  “But what about me?” Keje demanded. “What of Salissa?” Matt looked at Keje and couldn’t stop a grin from forming. “You, Admiral, will stay the hell out of range of anything they can throw at you from shore, and keep your planes in the air.”

  “And me, Skipper?” Laumer asked, his tone quiet. Matt’s grin faded. “You’ll take your PTs in with me. Our first priority is the BBs.”

  “And we will join you in the fight with Amerika, just as soon as we off-load the troops!” Von Melhausen exclaimed.

  “No, Herr Kapitan, I’m afraid you mustn’t do that. I need you to stay with Salissa and help protect her from anything unexpected. Your ship is faster than her, and she may need you.” He paused. “And besides, if we need to get everybody out in a hurry, we’ll need you for that as well.”

  “The plan remains as sound as when we first discussed it,” Adar gushed before Von Melhausen or Lange could object. “And your cautionary points are also well taken, Cap-i-taan Reddy.” He looked around the room, blinking his large silver eyes. “But despite what you said earlier, I propose that we must do this thing in order to survive, and we have no more choice than we did in the Battle for Baalkpan. Only the immediacy of the outcome is at variance here. You have said yourself that we cannot be forever reacting to the Grik. We must force them to react to us. What better way to make them do that than to savage their seat of power? Our cause, and most likely our very lives most assuredly do, eventually, depend on how successfully we prosecute this operation.” He looked back at Mat
t. “That is my . . . counsel, for what it is worth. My order, as chairman of all the Homes united beneath or beside the Banner of the Trees, the ‘Union’ Mr. Letts has made, is that we proceed with the original plan, but watch closely for . . . opportunities to press the attack!” He glanced at Matt’s growing frown. “If you see any such, report them to Cap-i-taan Reddy at once, so he can decide whether or not to pursue them.” He sighed deeply. “I have a definite . . . sense, an almost heavenly conviction, that if we can press this attack, we will break the Grik here—and possibly everywhere!”

  * * *

  Matt and Sandra visited the stateroom set aside for them to change out of their formal dress before taking a stroll together on the hangar deck. The din was just as great as before, maybe greater, since Keje had declared he wanted every plane aboard ready for the upcoming fight. Squads of Raiders or Marines double-timed through the live and inanimate obstacles, just as they did so often. Neither Chack nor Safir wanted to take any chances that their troops had grown soft during the long voyage. Whichever unit they belonged to, there was no doubt they were in for a strenuous time ashore. Matt pointed at a vast opening in the side, and they eased that way so they could talk without being run down or otherwise interrupted. For a long moment, they just stood together, side by side, watching the sea churn away from Salissa’s mighty bulk. In the middle distance, Walker doggedly loped along, the gentle swells making her ride seem much more boisterous. Soon, she would ease back alongside, and Matt and the others who crossed with him would go back aboard the old destroyer. In the meantime, he was content just to spend a few moments alone with his wife. He would have been, at least, if he had the slightest idea what it was that had come between them. He contemplated just asking her—but what should he ask? “What’s the matter” was far too broad, and invited any number of responses that likely wouldn’t get to the bottom of things. “Are you mad at me?” was equally vague. Matt knew that, due to circumstances beyond their control, Sandra always harbored some slight resentments. That was only natural. She was unhappy with Matt’s regulations that prevented her from joining him on Walker. She disliked Walker’s role in the upcoming fight. Most of all, she hated the war that kept them apart and forced them all into harm’s way so often. Asking what she was angry about would not be productive. Finally, Matt just put his arm around her and sighed, deciding not to bring it up at all.

  “Adar might be right,” he said at last, giving voice to the other subject that was bothering him, “but I wish he’d quit sending mixed signals like that.”

  “Me too,” Sandra agreed, leaning into him. “There’s always a difference between what he says and what he implies lately,” she added. “He says, ‘Follow the plan,’ or ‘Captain Reddy’s orders,’ but then implies that he wants everybody to go for broke.”

  “Can’t really blame him.”

  “No, but it . . . worries me, and leaves me confused about what he really expects out of all this. We all know what he wants. I think everybody wants the same thing. But what does he expect?”

  “What do you think?”

  Sandra frowned. “I think he expects to take the place—and keep it. No matter what.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “You’ve given him so many victories, Matthew, he’s expecting another one, the biggest one of all.”

  “It could happen,” Matt murmured in her hair. “But at least he stressed that any modifications to the basic plan had to come through me. I’ve been a little worried he was encouraging everybody to just have at the Grik on Madagascar, on their own, and the devil take the hindmost.”

  “He has been, Matthew,” Sandra whispered. “Not in so many words, but his . . . enthusiasm has been contagious.”

  A chill went down Matt’s back. He thought over what Adar said, and it did suddenly sound, in his mind, more like a pep speech with an arbitrary “oh, by the way” thrown in. “He gave an order, and all those commanders, Chack, Safir, they’re our friends. They’ll do the right thing.”

  “Will they?” Sandra asked sadly. “Can they, this time? Madagascar’s like the Holy Land to them, and if they . . .” She stopped herself. “Just be careful, darling,” she said, “and be watchful.”

  “I will.”

  They settled into a companionable silence for several moments, but then Sandra suddenly took a step away and faced him. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted defiantly, and Matt almost jumped out of his skin.

  “What?” he demanded, incredulous.

  “I’m pregnant,” Sandra repeated more softly.

  Matt could feel the blood rushing in his ears. “Okay. Wow. I mean, how?”

  Sandra snorted a laugh. “The usual way, I assure you!”

  Matt’s face turned beet red. “Sure, I know. I mean . . . well, sure. I meant to ask when, I guess. How long have you known?” A smile started to spread across his face. “A kid! Me! I’m going to have a kid! I mean, we’re going to have one. . . .” He shook his head and grabbed her, squeezing her tight against him. “So that’s why you’ve been so sore at me!”

  “I haven’t been sore,” Sandra denied, then shrugged. “Just maybe a little . . . uncomfortable, for not telling you for so long.”

  “How long?” he repeated. “I mean, when did you figure it out?”

  “About the time we left Andaman Island, before the second Battle of Madras.”

  He stared at her. “And you didn’t tell me for . . . shoot, nearly two months! Why?”

  She looked squarely at him in the deepening gloom of the setting sun. “Because you would’ve made me stay behind,” she said simply, and Matt knew it was true. She usually got her way when it came to most anything, but he would’ve put his foot down about this. And here she was!

  “You’re damn right I would have,” he admitted. “Still should! I should send you home right now!”

  “In what? One of the DDs you’re about to need so badly? That’s just silly!”

  “And it was irresponsible of you to come along in your condition!”

  “Irresponsible?” Sandra flared. “I’m pregnant, not crippled! And since I’m a doctor, it would’ve been irresponsible to stay behind.” Her temper was beginning to mount, but then she caught herself and sagged hard against him. “Maybe it was,” she admitted softly. “Maybe I should’ve stayed behind, at least at Madras. But I wasn’t about to let you run off on this stunt without me—without us,” she emphasized, patting her stomach. “We’ve always been in it together, through thick and thin, ever since the start. Our child will be in it too, eventually, one way or the other. Might as well get him—or her—used to the idea right from the start.”

  He put both arms around her and hugged her to his chest. “Irresponsible,” he repeated softly, “but maybe right too. I always do better when you’re around. Just promise you’ll stay aboard Big Sal! No running off ashore to field hospitals and such, not this time.”

  “I promise, Matthew,” she whispered into his collar. “There’ll probably be plenty to do aboard here before all’s said and done anyway.”

  He released her and took a step back, his face finding it impossible to decide whether to smile or frown. He finally clenched his jaw for a moment to get control of it.

  “What’s the matter?” Sandra asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” He waved around and managed a wry smile at last. “Everything. This isn’t exactly how I ever imagined getting the news that I’m going to be a father—and damn sure not the circumstances I ever figured my wife would be in when she told me!”

  “Are you really upset?”

  “No!” he assured her firmly. “And yes,” he admitted. “I’m still mad you didn’t tell me sooner, and I’m scared to death for you, our child—for everything! I’m not used to that. Going into a fight with all that on my mind . . .”

  “This isn’t the first time the stakes have been high,” Sandra pointed out.

  “Yeah, but
what you told me makes them a lot higher for me personally. You know that.”

  Sandra shrugged. “Maybe telling you now was my way of making you be more careful this time!”

  Matt nodded thoughtfully, then sighed. “But Jesus. What if we lose? What if everything finally comes unwrapped? It could, you know. We know less about what we’re jumping off into than ever this time!”

  “Maybe. But again, you’ve done it before,” Sandra told him confidently. “You’ll sort it out.”

  “But what if, this time, it just can’t be sorted out?”

  Sandra cupped his face with her hand. “Quit saying that. You’ll do it. And if you can’t? You get out. Period. Don’t put yourself in a position to lose!”

  Matt nodded, but he knew it wasn’t always that simple. So did Sandra.

  Spanky appeared behind Matt, and Sandra nodded at him.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Skipper, but our ride’s back.” He looked over the rail at the gathering darkness. “Crossin’ the water in an open boat on this freaky sea gives me the creeps at the best of times, but it’s getting dark. Wind’s freshening too, and I’d just as soon we hurry up.”

  Matt chuckled. “Right behind you, Spanky.” They moved to the long stairway that had been lowered almost to the water and gazed down at the barge. Chief Gray had taken personal charge of the boat and Silva was with him, armed with a BAR “just in case the fishies get frisky.” Spanky and Herring trooped down the stairs, and Matt paused a moment to embrace his wife once more. Petey chose that moment to wake up, and blearily scrambled onto Matt’s shoulder.